


Façade

by Elvenbeard



Series: The many oneshots and drabbles featuring Tamlen Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 12:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18031400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvenbeard/pseuds/Elvenbeard
Summary: Inquisitor Tamlen Lavellan has retreated to the war-room for some peace and quiet. Corypheus is defeated, but it seems like a break from saving the world is far away.There's some unfinished business still to attend to, Inquisition-related and personal, and Dorian joins him to go through and discuss some options... also regarding their relationship's future.





	Façade

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble created over the course of a weeks or so. Originally intended just for posting it on Tumblr this got... too long. So I decided to put it here, get the dust off of my AO3, and maybe potentially start off a little collection of assorted random oneshots and drabbles focused on my quizzy (and sometimes Dorian) that I wrote over the course of the last years.
> 
> There is a bit of relationship-related fluff, but this is actually pretty generic and focusing also a lot on the effects Solas' leaving at the end of the main game and the slow surfacing of his many lies affect a male Inquisitor's view of his friend.

The light of the afternoon sun is dancing across the map of Thedas spread out on top of the massive wartable. Long shadows are cast by the iron map markers placed all across the intrinsically illustrated landscape. They sit sheer immovable, placed down on conquered objectives, dozens of them. The advisors they represent aren’t currently here though. Other business is more urgent to be dealt with, now that all immediate threats the Inquisition had struggled against over the course of the last year are finally out of this world. Or so at least it seems.

Inquisitor Lavellan stands alone, hands resting heavily on the old wooden table, looming over the painted continent like a giant; like a giant he has moved these map markers, has forever shaped this world, yet more than ever he feels like just a little boy carrying a burden way too heavy for him alone.

A slight air draft lets candles and torches flicker as the door to the war-room is opened.

“There you are,” Dorian calls from behind, smooth voice taking at least some of the tension out of Tamlen’s shoulders, “Our dear Ambassador guessed right.”

He lets one hand slide from the table as he turns around just a little bit to watch Dorian as he enters and closes the heavy door behind him.

“It’s a bit scary how she’s always right concerning my whereabouts. Or I’m just very predictable.”

He tries to sound light-hearted, can’t help but smile at least a little bit as Dorian approaches slowly, on his way taking in the calm atmosphere of the room. His steps echo slightly from the high ceiling, and he is bathed in the sunlight shining through the large windows behind the wartable. He seems like a vision, a revelation sent by some higher power, majestic and graceful in the solemn mood the sun creates in here. Tamlen catches his thoughts and eyes wandering, snapping back into reality as Dorian remarks how the room reminds him of the library of the Circle of Vyrantium.

“Minus the bookshelves and obnoxious Magisters’ offspring, of course.”

He comes to a halt next to him at the wartable, gazing across the map and abundance of map markers in silence for a couple of moments.

“It’s insane how much we’ve accomplished…” he thinks out loud, simultaneously a little too accidentally, maybe subconsciously, brushing against Tamlen’s arm as he leans in closer.

“And yet there’s still so much left to do,” Tamlen remarks as he turns back to the table fully as well. He points to a marker in the very far west, way past the ones labelled as _Griffon Wing Keep_ and _Adamant Fortress._ It has been almost forgotten so far off in the distance, but not by Tamlen.

“Rumours we didn’t investigate yet, about slave trade and Venatori digging in the sand of the Hissing Wastes. They’re trying to unearth who knows what.”

His face darkens, shoulders getting tense again.

“I wish we would have had the time to look into this back when we were closer to the area.”

He bites his tongue, not wanting to talk badly about the advisors while they weren’t here, who had urged him to leave the rumors be back then because the preparations for the Peace Talks were of a higher priority. Orlais and its nobles always enjoyed a particularly high priority.

“What‘s wrong?” Dorian asks, brow furrowed.

Tamlen lets out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Just wondering if I’m ready to go on that journey into the desert again,” he shrugs, looking back on the map, hands on the table surface again, and voice turning slightly quieter, “Lots of bad memories. I’m worried about what we’ll find there now.”

“Venatori are never a good sign,” Dorian agrees, “If you want, I could ask around a bit concerning the matter, try and see if I can get more information.”

Dorian follows Tamlen’s gaze across the desert, still frowning slightly. Then he carfully places his hand on top of Tamlen’s, causing him to look up from the map and at him.

“You can do this,” Dorian says calmly, “You’re stronger than you think you are. You’ve proven it over and over again.”

Tamlen’s heartbeat increases, Dorian reassuringly and gently squeezing his hand. He didn’t expect this gesture, however small and insignificant it seemed. He doesn’t know how to react or what to say – and he believes to see a hint of worry in Dorian’s eyes as if he didn’t expect it either, looking from their touching hands at Tamlen and back. Neither of them says another word, then Tamlen shifts his hand to now take Dorian’s. They smile at each other, hands slowly, reluctantly letting go again. Dorian looks back to the map, eyes wandering to a different marker of a still open objective – relatively close by even.

“What about this one?”

“We received a letter from Orzammar only a few days ago,” Tamlen explains, “A subterranean earthquake collapsed one of their lyrium mines, several others could follow.”

“Lovely,” Dorian sighs, “I bet they want our help?”

“Well, since they are the main supplier of our Lyrium… we don’t have much of a choice in the matter,” Tamlen says, “The collapsed mine isn’t even the best part yet. Chances are high that darkspawn might come crawling to the surface, because several tunnel seals that kept them at bay were destroyed, too. The king already sent his own people in, and currently they’re trying to find a way for us to get down there, too without them having to go up first.”

“If they have trouble with darkspawn they should probably rather ask for the Grey Warden’s help,” Dorian remarks, “You know… someone who won’t die a horrible death fighting these things.”

“The Grey Wardens… seem to be having their very own problems at the moment,” Tamlen sighs, nodding at yet another marker in the far north labelled _Weisshaupt_.

“I think Orzammar’s going to send the Legion of the Dead as reinforcements though, so that we’re not entirely left alone down there. I hope at least.”

He takes a step away from the table, putting his hands at the back of his head in resignation.

“But well, there you have it. Tevinter slavers in a remote, deadly desert, or darkspawn in underground caves about to collapse. Hard to choose what task to tackle first with such great options.”

Both of them stand quietly for a while, looking at the map, on their own reliving good and bad memories that the names of all the locations bring up. Long cold nights in the Frostback Mountains, huddled up in furs and blankets. The horrible rain and mud and death of the Fallow Mire and Crestwood. The Temple of Mythal, hidden deeply in uncharted territory, long forgotten. Long, winding roads connecting cities and countries, Ferelden, Orlais, the Marches, and on the very top of the map the outskirts of the Tevinter Imperium.

The longer no word is spoken, the more noticeable a certain tension in the air begins to grow between them. Dorian seems as if he wants to say something to eventually break the silence, but Tamlen beats him to it.

“Have you decided yet when you’re going to leave?” he asks quietly, but the worry and sorrow resonating in his voice are audible, no matter how hard he tries to hide them. Dorian ever so slightly flinches, and Tamlen almost regrets bringing the topic up. Both of them are scared of this conversation, they’ve been avoiding it for days. They need to finally speak about it, though, even more so now that Dorian’s departure is so close.

“Probably in three days, together with the merchants headed to Jader,” Dorian explains, clearing his throat and standing up straight from leaning against the wartable. He looks weirdly stiff and formal, not sure what to do with himself, avoiding eye contact… and Tamlen begins to fumble with his scarf.

“I’ll take the ferry to Cumberland and from there on it’s not a difficult journey anymore. A lot faster and more direct than the route via Amaranthine and Kirkwall, too.”

Tamlen remains quiet, but nods. He is avoiding to look at Dorian, doesn’t want him to see his worry and fear. Dorian notices anyway.

“It’s not going to be forever. I’ll be back in no time,” he tries to reassure him, stepping a little closer.

“I know. I’m just…” Tamlen pauses, “It’s a reminder that there’ll be a day when you won’t be back.”

Dorian flinches again, definitely more noticeable now. Ouch.

Realizing how harsh his words sounded Tamlen immediately, almost panicky closes the distance still between them.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly, a little too roughly takes Dorian’s hands, looking up into a face looking exactly as painful as he feels himself, “This is not me guilt-tripping you into not going. I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Dorian replies calmly, a soft yet sad smile appearing on his lips, beginning to replace the pain.

But Tamlen internally chastises himself for, yet again, not thinking before speaking.

“I support you whole-heartedly, you know that,” Tamlen reassures Dorian, looking him in the eyes and holding his hands tightly, “I will stand by your side no matter what, like you have always stood by me through all this crap. I want you to succeed and achieve great things, achieve your dreams. It’s just… I’ve never been in this situation before. It’s scary, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

Dorian’s smile doesn’t fade, and for a moment he almost amusedly glances at their hands. Tamlen realizes that he’s squeezing Dorian’s hands so much that his knuckles have turned white. In absolute horror he lets go of them – a little at least, not entirely. He blushes, and Dorian laughs.

“I’m so sorry…” Tamlen sighs, lowering his head in resignation about his foolishness.

“No, don’t be,” Dorian chuckles, carefully placing a kiss on Tamlen’s head, “You’re quite endearing.”

Tamlen looks back up at Dorian, one very sceptical eyebrow raised at that compliment. Dorian begins to trace Tamlen’s knuckles with his thumb. He pauses for a moment, looking away, searching for the right words inside his mind (before speaking something he will regret).

“I know. It’s hard. For me leaving is just as much, as for you is staying behind” he then says quietly, looking at him, “I left before. I’ve been left before. It doesn’t get easier, but I take comfort in the fact that this is for now temporary, and that you trust my decisions.”

“See...” Tamlen begins again, “The “for now” part scares me. I’m sad that I can’t come with you now, I’m scared that I might not be able to come ever. My duties here, your duties and goals there...”

“Even if it’s not an option, I won’t be out of this world. And if you call me, I’ll be here in no time,” Dorian promises, most sincerely looking into Tamlen’s eyes and holding his hands tightly as he promises this.

Tamlen exhales deeply. It is not that he doesn’t trust this promise. It’s not even that he’s scared of not being able to go with Dorian. In fact… there is something else he hasn’t dared to mention so far that ties into all these fears, makes them so unbearable.

He looks back down on their hands… Dorian’s strong but delicate at the same time somehow, feeling so soft against his own rough skin plastered with scars and calluses from long-past fights and years of hard labour. He can’t ignore the ominous green glow, always present, always reminding him about unfinished business.

“You know, in a way, ironically… you’ve been my anchor through all this time,” he eventually discloses.

Dorian looks at their hands as well, particularly Tamlen’s left.

“You’ve been much more an anchor than this thing ever was,” Tamlen adds, noticing Dorian’s gaze, and their eyes meet.

“You’ve kept me grounded, from the very beginning and our first conversations in Haven. It sounds terribly cheesy, but you’ve made me feel like I’m in the right place and doing the right thing, no matter how hard it was at the time. And I’m scared that, when you’re not here I could begin to drift off into the open ocean and get lost… before you’re back.”

For a moment Tamlen can see that Dorian has a playful response at the tip of his tongue, downplaying a tense or scary situation like he usually would. But as he just wants to begin his sentence he stops. Bites his lip slightly, thinking hard for a moment.

“The thing about an anchor is,” he then starts over slowly, thoughtfully, “no matter how far away it is from the ship, they’re both held together by a sturdy chain. The anchor could sink to the very bottom of the ocean, completely engulfed by darkness and unknown evils – so pretty much exactly what happens when you cross the border to the Imperium...”

Tamlen frowns, but Dorian continues.

“But the chain holds the anchor. Even if the anchor is not visible, as long as the chain is there the ship won’t drift off, no matter the depth of the ocean or the length of the distance and obstacles between them. I’ll hold you no matter how far apart we are. Alright?”

Tamlen tries to smile, but at the same time his throat gets tight. Dorian is right, and despite him still using metaphors to express his feelings, Tamlen knows that this was an incredibly heart-felt confession of love. Both of them are great with beating about the bush, tip-toeing around confessing their feelings, never being too direct out of fear of disappointment or abandonment or being too forward by speaking the words too soon, too openly. They both know how they feel, yet it seems a task harder than saving the goddamn world to just say “I love you” and finally get rid of this tension.

Dorian draws him in for a kiss – that works as well. Tamlen melts into the touch and against Dorian, hands trailing along his sides and holding on to his waist, while Dorian’s hands wander along his neck, his shoulders, his arms, until their hands entangle once more. Slowly their lips part again.

Tamlen leaves his eyes closed, then leans his forehead against Dorian’s chest. His heart is beating like a drum, painfully almost, as if his chest was too tight to contain it. His jaw tenses, teeth grinding. He wishes this moment of closeness just wouldn’t pass.

“What else is there?” Dorian then asks. _Always so perceptive_ , Tamlen curses internally, _says he doesn’t care, but then does so much._

Tamlen slowly leans back just a little bit without letting go of him to study Dorian’s face, assess the situation. He looks worried again, alarmed almost when Tamlen looks at him grimly after such a calm and intimate moment.

There’s no point of longer hiding a secret he’s been carrying around since the previous week. It’s gnawing at him, amplifying all his fears and doubts to unbearableness. It won’t get better.

“No one knows yet,” Tamlen begins slowly, Dorian puts his hands on his shoulders, thumbs gently rubbing as if to reassure him to go on.

Tamlen is torn, biting his lip, fingers absentmindedly fumbling with a buckle at the side of Dorian’s belt that keeps the holster for one of his spellbooks in place.

 “It’s about Solas,” he finally discloses, voice quiet, and a wave of adrenaline rushing through his body as if the sheer mentioning of his name might summon him right behind them, “He lied to us. About a lot of things. We’re still in the process of figuring out the extent. And particularly the why.”

Dorian slightly tilts his head and Tamlen can almost see the thoughts his mind beginning to race, wondering, asking so many questions all at once.

“What?” he sounds like he’s in disbelief, “I mean, I’m not overly surprised about him lying. But of all the things I expected to worry you, it’s not this.”

“It’s not so much the fact that he lied I guess,” Tamlen explains, “It’s more my beginning to question his reasons. All details he ever mentioned about his life, from where the name of the village he’s allegedly from to who he is and how he became a wandering apostate seems to be half-truths or downright lies. The more I think about what he told me, and the hours and hours we talked, the more paranoid I become. I’m starting to see inconsistencies that I didn’t before, and I feel like I should have noticed earlier that he was hiding something. But I trusted him fully, would have trusted him with my life.”

Dorian is quiet, his face serious, brow furrowed. He slowly backs away and Tamlen lets him go. He knows that Dorian likes to wander around to think things through. Dorian begins to walk around the war table, Tamlen watching his movements as he himself turns around to the map again as well.

 “You mean he had some sort of hidden agenda?” Dorian wonders after a while, coming to a halt at the opposite side of the table, “Why else would he lie about who he is, right?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Tamlen shrugs, “But the way he reacted when he saw that the orb was destroyed… the way he looked at it. That was more than a scholar being disappointed about not getting the chance to examine an ancient artefact.”

Dorian seems hesitant to speak his next words.

“Do you think he was working with Corypheus the whole time?”

“What if Corypheus was working for him?” Tamlen almost has to laugh at how ridiculous this sounds, “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some sort of connection, but I’m not sure.”

It can’t be… can it? He studies the map, but it doesn’t hold any answers to all his questions.

“Looking back now at all these little coincidences that we just welcomed with open arms. But what truly are the chances to have someone like Solas appear out of nowhere to help, just hours after a demon-spewing hole is torn into the sky? Coincidentally he was just nearby and happens to know so much about until this point basically unknown magic? I don’t think so.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath because he feels himself getting angrier by the second about the Inquisition’s – his own – blindness.

“At the time everything was so chaotic that not many questions were asked, all help was accepted.”

“Just like how people just accepted that you appeared of nowhere, potentially would rather believe you were sent by a god than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Oh, and handily you have an ability to fix the situation for some reason,” Dorian adds.

“Yes, exactly,” Tamlen agrees. Nothing was questioned because it seemed like the world was ending anyway. And Solas, despite seeming suspicious in hindsight, was indeed charismatic enough to not make himself seem suspicious, readily helping all efforts to end the chaos like everyone else. Maybe it was just luck and fate, but then why did he keep up his façade and his lies by the time the situation had stabilized and they all had become friends, more or less? Even Blackwall, who had committed the most atrocious crimes had come clean with them, had been willing to _die_ in an attempt to repent.

Tamlen would have understood if Solas’ had lied as a matter of self-preservation – he himself did it in the early days of the Inquisition. Human society isn’t exactly known for being in favour of elves or mages, even worse if you have a powerful combination of the two like in Solas’ case. A fake background hiding the fact that maybe he escaped from a Circle or had to kill someone important to gain his freedom would have been more than understandable when venturing into the heart of an extremely religious human settlement and assembly.

The only reason Tamlen could think of was that Solas had something to do with the events surrounding the creation of the Breach in the first place – but even then, had he admitted to being at fault, admitted to having made a great mistake, for whichever reasons – an experiment gone wrong, playing with powers he didn’t understood the consequences of… Tamlen would have been able to forgive him, because he had used his knowledge to fix the damage as good as possible.

But instead he never disclosed anything, left without a word, and now his lies are catching up with him. Tamlen wonders if Solas even felt any regret at all when he left, or if it had been part of a bigger plan all along as well. He wonders, if Solas truly considered any of them his friends, how much of his words had been true at all and how much just an act to keep up a façade and gain – maybe misuse – their trust.

“I feel like… We thought this was all Corypheus’ doing, because he claimed it to be and we had no reason to believe otherwise. It seemed logical, other similar crazy things have happened in Thedas’ history. But I can’t shake off the feeling that there’s more to all of this. We could never discern how he got into the possession of an ancient elvhen artifact in the first place. Then there’s Solas, appearing out of nowhere at the same time, a scholar who knows not only a lot about the Fade but also the Ancient Elves. He conveniently wanders into this chaos with so many answers to all our problems.”

Dorian is holding his arms crossed. He is quiet, looking at the map between them lost in thought, eyes dark. Tamlen takes one of the raven-shaped map markers from the table and begins to play with it as he is trying to bring his thoughts into cohesive sentences.

“But I’m not sure what I want to believe anymore. I just know…” – he looks down on the raven figurine in his left hand, illuminated by the anchor’s eerie green glow “… as long as _this_ is still here with me, none of this is truly over. I’m scared that we’re still only at the beginning of a much bigger story.”

Dorian raises one hand to his chin, looking at Tamlen sternly.

“Solas could be after the anchor, because it’s what remains of the orb’s magic…”

“I’m wondering if maybe he’s been after it all along. Why else lie about his true motivations, if not for some ulterior motive?”

“This is going to sound harsh… but why not just get rid of you and take the anchor when he had the chance then?”

Dorian had a point. In the moment just after Corypheus’ defeat the two of them had been alone. If Solas truly was after the anchor, it would have been the best opportunity. One of many very good opportunities really. He could have taken it right away all the way back in Haven, while Tamlen had been knocked out cold in the dungeon below the Chantry after his involuntary trip to the Fade.

“I don’t know,” Tamlen admits, “Maybe he doesn’t know how to take it away, or it’s a very complicated process? Maybe he would have needed the orb for it? I mean, I received it through touching the orb in the first place. But even with the orb, Corypheus wasn’t able to take it during the night Haven fell… In fact he accidentally seemed to just amplify its powers.”

“Did you notice any changes with it since the orb was destroyed?” Dorian perks up.

“Not really… not yet at least,” Tamlen admits, balling his hand into a loose fist. He had grown numb to the pain the anchor caused, but when he focused on it he could feel it pulsating, almost as if it had its own heartbeat, its own life-force. He looks back at Dorian.

“Or maybe I’m getting paranoid, and Solas is just taking a break to think. He’ll come back eventually with a completely logical explanation for everything. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.”

He looks across the wartable, his eyes resting on the marker sitting next to a beautiful illustration of the city of Wycome for a moment before wandering back to Skyhold in the center of the map.

“He knows so much about me personally and the Inquisition as a whole. In the wrong hands this kind of information could be our end. It just doesn’t sit well with me at all that he left without a word, so sudden, after everything we all went through together.”

Dorian begins to circle the table again, making his way back to Tamlen.

 “May I suggest: one thing at a time,” he begins to evaluate their options, “Considering the worst case scenario here: Solas is after the anchor in some way, he’s had a secret agenda all along. To get what he wants he’d need to come to get to you. That leaves him in the disadvantage.”

“Riiight. Unless he sets up an elaborate trap for us, say, by spreading rumors about slavers or causing a ruckus in the Deep Roads – something we wouldn’t and couldn’t ignore.”

“You don’t really –“

“No, no,” Tamlen sighs, getting frustrated by not knowing the truth and only being able to speculate, “I don’t think he’s behind any of these recent occurrences, but he knows me well, he knows how we operate. He’d know how to place a trap and lure us right in.”

“Tamlen…” Dorian reaches him, puts his arm around him to calm him down.

Tamlen doesn’t look up at him, not resenting the gesture, leaning into the touch, but stubbornly trying to make sense of it all.

 “I think, while he is a little weirdo and as it seems, also a liar, he respects you a great deal,” Dorian reassures him, trying his best to lighten the mood a little bit.

“I considered him a good friend,” Tamlen adds, “I still do. Which is why I want to know so badly what this is all about.”

Dorian draws him into a hug now, Tamlen leaning his head against his chest while still keeping his eyes fixated on the world map, arms reluctantly curling around Dorian’s waist. Dorian speaks calmly, holding him not too tightly, but keeping him close.

“I think, no matter why he lied, he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would stab you from behind. He’s an elitist little shit, but I think he has enough respect for you to meet with you face to face. So if there’s a bigger plan, you won’t run into it completely unprepared and blindly. And we’ll all have your back.”

Tamlen nods, but remains quiet. The thought of facing Solas as an enemy scares him. Would he just want to talk, like Corypheus did so often? Or would there be a fight? Would Tamlen be ready to do his worst against his friend if his life depended on it?

“This is all bad news. You need to tell the others as soon as possible, so they know what to look out for and be ready,” Dorian pleads, “Those who think they can get to you without having to fight the whole Inquisition first are messing with the wrong people. We have your back, and together we can handle this. I promise.”

Tamlen tries to smile, but he can’t shake the gnawing feeling that hard times lie ahead – and great sacrifices. Dorian squeezes him a bit tighter, Tamlen finding at least a little bit of reassurance in the warmth of the hug and the fact that indeed he won’t have to face these trials alone.


End file.
